Fly Boys by Jon McDonald

Wearing its
coat of ice

The shriveled
apple enfolds the sleeping seed,

Dreaming of moist warm
earth.

Haruki repeatedly struck at the ice on the pond with a large bone. The geese waddled down to the bank’s
edge from their shelter, grateful for the opportunity to drink, swim and preen
in open water, dressed by the falling snow. Haruki gazed out across the ice locked
pond to the charcoal stenciled trees on the opposite bank. He watched a solitary child in a red
parka mournfully kicking a yellow ball in circles - no companion to play
with. Haruki shook the last of the
cracked corn from the paper bag, and a few of the geese glided out of the pond
to peck at the latest offering.

Walking back to the house Haruki felt the cold in his arthritic
joints. He leaned heavily on his
cane. He paused half way back, even
though it was but a short distance.
He could see his wife, Kazuko, kneeling at the altar arranging a few
branches of spring peach blossoms, imported from the south, an echo of what was
soon to come. He envied that she
could kneel like that, as it was such a great effort for him to kneel or rise
from the floor when he rolled out his sleeping mat before bedtime.

At eighty-five years
old he had few joys left but memories.
Not that he was angry or bitter.
He had had a good life. But
he and his wife had no children, and that had left her, if not bitter, then at
least sad and disappointed.
Fortunately she had some grand-nieces and nephews who continued to care
for her; and living close by they would visit frequently with gifts, attention,
and invitations to family holiday festivals.

Haruki slid back the
door and came into the house. He
removed his scarf and was about to hang it on a peg on the wall.

“Could you please
bring in some more charcoal before you take off your coat? - if it’s not a great
inconvenience to you,” Kazuko asked in the baby-doll voice that infuriated
Haruki with its subservience. She
rose from the altar, and went over to the fire pit in the center of the room,
and poked at the coals under the lightly simmering teakettle suspended by a hook
over the fire. “I’ll have some nice
hot tea for you when you come back in,” she added.

Without answering
Haruki, once more put on his scarf and went outside to the charcoal bin at the
end of the porch and filled up the bucket with the bamboo scoop.

Haruki and
Arashi both reached for the bamboo cup at the same time. It floated on top of
the basin of cool water used for drinking - just outside the Air Force
barracks. Their hands touched and
an electric shock raced up Haruki’s arm.
He looked up, confused and cautious. He was greeted with a sly smile from
another young pilot, a good few inches taller than he was and slender. His face was etched like a fine Samurai
sword – lean and chiseled – like tempered steel. But his eyes smiled softly and playfully
like the sun dancing on the surface of the drinking water. Haruki felt blossoms gently opening in
the pit of his stomach.

Haruki lugged
the full bucket of charcoal back into the house and over to the fire pit. Kazuko smiled, nodded three times
sharply, uttered a breathy “thank you,” and begin placing pieces of charcoal on
the coals with tongs.

Haruki went back over
to the pegs in the wall, took off his scarf again and hung his coat next to the
peg with the solitary white silk scarf.
Haruki’s eyes lingered on the scarf for a long moment, and when he looked
over to his wife she quickly glanced away, embarrassed to be seen staring at her
husband, knowing what that scarf meant to him.

“Your tea is ready
now,” she almost whispered.

Haruki took the cup
from her without a word, and shuffled to his room, sliding the door softly
behind him, settling in at his desk, and staring out the window at the still
falling, early spring snow on this very gray afternoon. A single flash of sunlight suddenly shot
through the clouds and blazed upon the red figure playing across the
pond.

* * *

Looking up, the swallow’s wing

Slashes across
the face of the sun.

What a sweet
blink!

Haruki rested on his
hoe and watched the robins weaving their nest at the top of the apricot tree now
in full bloom. He always enjoyed
preparing the garden for planting.
It was still too early to put out the tomato or eggplant starts, but he
felt good preparing the ground for an early May planting. Kazuko opened a packet of mizuna seeds,
a cold resistant green she could plant early in the season. She created a furrow in the row and
began tapping the seeds into the soil before covering them up with loose soil
and watering.

Having finished
the last row, Haruki, put the hoe away in the shed and took out the rake. He glanced out over the pond as a flight
of wild ducks skimmed over the surface before landing by the rushes at the far
end. The sun caught the iridescent
feathers of a male mallard as he landed, creating a dance of color in the
cattails. Haruki began racking the
last of the leaves under the wisteria that hung over the porch, just now putting
out its first tender leaves.

Kazuko took off her
work gloves and placed them on the bench by the door before going inside to
prepare lunch. They retained the
form of her hands as they lay there, looking like they were about to strangle
the bottle of fish emulsion fertilizer.

“Here, I
think you dropped this,” Arashi said, tapping Haruki on the shoulder. Haruki turned around and accepted the
glove that Arashi had picked up.

For a
reason he couldn’t understand Haruki blushed and could only stammer out a faint
“Thank you.” He paused before asking, “Have you been following
me?”

“Maybe.”
Arashi grinned broadly and put his hand on Haruki’s shoulder. “Sake?” he offered, pointing down a
narrow side street. Haruki
nodded.

“A man of
few words, I like that. I, myself,
talk far too much. You will get to
know that about me.” Arashi laughed, taking Haruki by the arm and leading him
down the street to an almost hidden bar, chatting about the upcoming air
drills.

Haruki
wondered why Arashi would take him to such a shabby out of the way
establishment. It was dark inside
and there was not even a sign outside that announced that this was a sake
bar. But as his eyes adjusted to
the darkness he could see that the clientele were all young men. Haruki stopped short with a slight
twinge of panic, and a resurgence of old hidden fears. He turned to leave but Arashi entreated
softly, “Please don’t go.”

“But…”
Haruki couldn’t quite find the words.

“It’s
alright. Never been to a place like
this before?”

“I think
perhaps you misunderstand…” Haruki tried to
explain.

“I don’t
think so,” Arashi whispered in Haruki’s ear. “It’s just unfamiliar. But if you let me lead you, I’m sure I
can make you feel very much at home.”

Haruki watched a
boisterous, silly game-show on the television as Kazuko squinted by the light of
her lamp patching the edges of a worn comforter. Haruki turned off the television with
the remote in his lap and sat in silence for a moment. The wind outside was picking up,
knocking a branch against Kazuko’s bedroom window.

“I promise I’ll get
to that branch tomorrow,” Haruki offered.
“I keep forgetting about it except when it’s windy.”

Neither spoke for a
moment, then Kazuko put her sewing things aside in a lacquer box and turned off
the light. She folded the comforter
and headed towards the bedrooms.
“I’ll put this in your room.
Sleep well.” She disappeared
down the hallway towards his bedroom.
She left the comforter for him, and quietly retreated to her own room and
slid shut the door. The house was
now in darkness except for a faint light coming from the open door of Haruki’s
room, and the light of the half moon spilling through the windows overlooking
the pond. Haruki continued to sit
in his chair lost in the silence of the house. The wind moaned and whistled gently
through the windows. The faint glow
of charcoal embers pulsed in the fire pit.
Part of the fire collapsed and the coals flared up into a single flame
for just a brief moment, and then subsided back into the last glow of the dying
fire.

* * *

The tardy summer shower

Dances on the parched
earth.

Tickling the gasping
grasses.

The horses danced out
from the Takizawa’s Soozen Jinja shrine.
Changu changu - rang the horse’s bells. One hundred costumed horse dancers began
their parade to the Hachimangu shrine 15 kilometers away. The Changu-Changu Umakko festival was
just getting underway on this hot June Saturday - a celebration of the end of
the planting season and a prayer for a bountiful harvest to come.

“They look like
they’re going to be very hot today.
I hope they have enough water,” Kazuko commented to her grand-nephew,
Juro, about the horse dancers. She
searched in her carrier for her water bottle and Haruki’s cap, and offered them
to him. “Don’t get dehydrated,” she
commanded, shaking the bottle at him.
He took it without comment and took a deep swig. He refused the cap, however, waving it
away.

Juro offered to buy
them some ices, and ambled over towards the ice stall, having seen a very pretty
young girl heading that way.

Haruki turned away
slightly from Kazuko and tucked the white silk scarf tighter inside his kimono
so that Kazuko would not see that he was wearing it today. Juro returned with three ices and the
pretty young girl. He handed a
mandarin orange ice to Kazuko, a watermelon ice to Haruki and shared a honeydew
melon and lime ice with Choko, the young girl, who giggled when they both licked
the ice at the same time.

Kazuko was enchanted
with the dancing horses and threw the paper flowers that she had been making for
weeks at them to show her appreciation.
She bobbed in excitement as the parade of floats with ecstatic drummers
thundered by.

Haruki glimpsed a
tall, thin young man on the other side of the street. His handsome chiseled face flashed a
smile and then he disappeared into the crowd. Haruki licked at the watermelon
ice.

Haruki
leaned back against Arashi’s naked chest.
They were seated on the porch of Arashi’s family hunting lodge, high in
the mountains. A waterfall and
stream tumbled not more that twenty meters away. Both were naked and trying to cool
themselves in this August heat by eating slices of iced watermelon that dribbled
juice down their chests. They were
playing a little game to see who could spit the watermelon seeds the
farthest.

“Ah! The record so far,” Arashi crowed having
ejected a seed a good three meters.
The world record - or so he said.
Haruki didn’t respond to the taunt and was very quiet. Arashi looked down at him. “You alright?” he asked, tilting
Haruki’s head up so he could see his eyes.

Arashi bent
forward and leaned his chin on the top of Haruki’s head. “Yeah, I figured
that.” He laughed, then thought for
a moment and added, “Then why do you seem so
sad?”

“Because I
don’t know what happens next?”

“How do you
mean?”

“I don’t
know how to live this way. What do
we do now? It’s very nice here – up
in the mountains, far away, no people, just us - but what do we do when we get
back? How can we be together – out
there?” Haruki’s gesture embraced the whole
world.

Arashi
didn’t speak for a moment. He just
nodded, thinking. “Yeah, I
know. Not
easy.”

“There’s no
way for us to be alone at the barracks.
And our families – I am to be married to a very sweet girl in the
autumn. What about that?” Haruki was becoming agitated and he
turned around to face Arashi. “And
what you and your family? Don’t
they want you to marry?”

“I’m not
the eldest. And I have a lot of
brothers and sisters. I could slip
through the cracks without a lot of trouble.”

“But I’m an
only child. You know what that
means.”

“I
do.”

“And the
war? What if we get separated? I don’t know if I could bear
that.”

Haruki
became even more agitated and he threw his arms around Arashi and pulled him
closely to him and started kissing him passionately. However, both being naked they soon
became aroused and ended up making love on the porch covered in watermelon juice
and other substances. When they
were done they raced to the stream and threw themselves in the water like a
couple of truant kids escaping school.

Juro closed the car
doors after Kazuko and Haruki climbed out of their seats with a little
effort. Juro supported Kazuko’s
arm, and led her back to the house.
He was a good kid – thoughtful and considerate. She patted his hand when he delivered
her to the front door.

“Thank you my
dear. It’s been a lovely
outing.”

Choko was still in
the front seat of the car, waiting for Juro to return so they could get back to
his apartment for a little quality time alone.

Juro gave Kazuko a
quick kiss on the top of her head and scurried back to his car without waving
good-bye.

“Are you
hungry?” Kazuko asked Haruki, who was standing at the windows looking out over
the pond.

“Not yet,” he
answered and slid open the door and walked out to inspect the garden, now in its
full fruiting. He carried a basket
and a pair of sheers, and gathered a few cucumbers, a handful of slender
eggplants, and a dark purple and a yellow heirloom tomato. He put the basket on the porch and
wandered down to the edge of the pond as the sun was just setting behind the
trees on the far shore. The nail
clipping of a new moon hung like a delicate smile just above the fading
horizon.

Haruki pulled at the
silk scarf still hidden by the folds of his kimono. He took it out, felt the silk against
his cheek and then tied it around his neck as the landscape before him began to
sink into darkness.

* * *

The last golden leaf

Desperately clutches the mother
branch.

But is no match for the icy
wind.

The first frost
had taken out the tomatoes, the basil and a few of the other less hardy garden
plants. It always saddened Haruki
to have to cut back the dead stalks.
There was still some kale, brussel sprouts and cabbage that actually
thrived in the colder weather. He
cast a plastic sheet over a few of the other more tender plants that had been
spared the first frost. It was
going to be another freezing night tonight and he wanted to spare as many plants
as he could.

Kazuko had
slipped getting out of the bathtub last week and was still in the hospital with
a broken hip. He would be going
there later, after lunch, to read to her for an hour or so. And it was becoming increasingly
difficult for him to get around without his cane, even for a short period of
time. He could not get out of any
chair now without its assistance.

He put together
a bouquet from the bed of chrysanthemums under the red maple tree by the front
gate to take to Kazuko. He put them
in a bucket of water by the back door and would tie them together with a nice
ribbon from her sewing box just before he left for the hospital. Kazuko’s grand-niece, Emiko, was going
to pick him up at two.

Haruki was not that
hungry, but he sliced open a persimmon and squeezed a little lime juice on
it. He went to his bedroom and sat
at his desk to sort the mail and pay a few bills. He opened his desk drawer to take out
the checkbook. Underneath was the
letter. The only one he had ever
received from Arashi. It had been a
very long time since he last looked at it. He took it out of the envelope,
opened it and read.

Haruki, I know how you hate me for what I am about to do. But I have to do this for my
country. Please forgive me. Know that I will be thinking of you when
I strike. I will love you
always.
Arashi

Haruki bowed his head
and let the letter fall onto his lap.
He stared across the room to the small table with the faded photograph of
Arashi hanging on the wall above.
He pulled himself out of his chair, the letter falling to the floor, and
hobbled over to the table. He took
some incense out of the table drawer and lit it. The smoke rose up around his head, and
languidly curled over towards the photo, wafting like a curtain, caressed by a
surprisingly warm autumn afternoon breeze.

“How can
you ever make me understand?” Haruki asked, tears streaming down his face. Smoke from a thousand sticks of incense
filled the temple. Arashi turned
from him and walked towards the entrance, his back to the golden reclining
Buddha. Haruki raced after him and
caught him by the shoulder, turning him sharply around, and taking Arashi’s
white silk scarf in both of his hands - fighting a strong temptation to strangle
him with it.

Arashi
slapped Haruki in the face. “Get a
hold on yourself. You’re making a
scene. Is this how you want to
remember our last day together?”

Haruki was
so startled he let go of the scarf.
Arashi turned and walked down the temple steps to the street. Haruki raced after. Arashi wouldn’t speak to him again till
they were back in the hotel room, and then he turned to Haruki, took off his
scarf, put it around Haruki’s neck and took him tightly in his arms, unable to
speak and unable to let him go.

Haruki carefully
picked up the letter from the floor and inserted it back into its envelope. He put it back in the drawer and closed
it. He sat back in the desk chair
and stared out across the pond. An
apple fell from a tree down by the pond, rolled down the bank, and splashed into
the still water by the dock. A
goose swimming nearby scurried over, snapped it up, and downed it with one quick
swallow.

It was a quarter till two. Haruki got out of his chair, went to
Kazuko’s sewing box, took out a ribbon and went to the back door. He wrapped the ribbon around the mums,
and went back inside to get his coat and hat. He locked up the house and stood by the
front gate waiting for Kazuko’s grand-niece to pick him up and take him to the
hospital. The leaves from the red
maple fell in his hair and across the shoulders of his black coat.

The incense
under Arashi’s photograph burned out, and sighed up the last little breath of
smoke before going cold. Across the
pond a bullfrog leapt off a lily pad to grab a low flying dragon fly, splashing
gleefully into the water and sending a spray into the air. The splash was caught by the sun, which
shot a ray of light across the pond into Haruki’s room, lighting up Arashi’s
Kamikaze headband with the rising sun in the middle of his
forehead.

Jon McDonald lives in
Santa
Fe, New Mexico. He
currently has three published novels - a satire, Divas Never Flinch; a
humorous vampire thriller, Bloodlines – the Quest and The Seed – An
Ironic Political Thriller. His
fourth book Gotta Dance With the One Who Brung Ya – Sex, Scandals and
Sweethearts will be published in early 2013. He won first prize and was published in
the New Mexican holiday short story contest, 2009. He has also been published in
Jonathan,Raphael’s Village,ImageOutWrite, and now Bay
Laurel. His website is: www.jonmcdonaldauthor.com